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 Welcome to The Impossible Dream, &

        As I Recall 15.09.2012

(Memories often being an unreliable  sources of
information, I cannot guarantee all facts below
to be 100% accurate).



Having basked in belated summer sun at a
friend’s wonderful outdoor party the day before,
I was surprised and rather disappointed to wake
up on Sunday to the realisation that my legs had
developed severe deafness overnight. It could
have been worse. The loss was not total, which
was good – essential really, and they did retain
most of their memory, so I managed to get by.

Of course they are not the first bits of me not to
hear what my brain is telling them to do - just
the first time both of my legs stopped listening
properly together.  I can only think that they
objected to spending time standing and wobbling
on a lawn, and wanted to pay me back in a way
that I would remember.

Normal sensations resumed after I gave in,
admitted defeat and rested for the rest of the
day. Of course my fear now is that they will think
they can play that game every time they dislike
the surface under their feet.




On Monday, I finally got around to watching the
closing ceremony of the Paralympics. Not as
good as the opening in my mind, but still pretty
amazing. I think what spoiled it for me, and I am
reluctant to tell even you for fear of a
misunderstanding – was the constant thought
that had I watched it on Sunday, I might have
seen it from a better perspective.
No, I don’t want to tempt fate. Definitely not.
Nor on further consideration, do I think that I
would have felt especially fascinated by any
comparisons made had I watched it when my
own legs were gammy.
Amazing isn’t it? By the time this is ready to be
beamed into your homes and ‘phones and
wotnots, the Para games will have been over for
a week – yet still being merrily talked about. Yes
by me, but by others too – and not just on the
TV. Okay, I’m going to make some more coffee
before I get cross.  




I’d planned to visit my Mother at the home
where she now resides, late Tuesday afternoon.
The idea was, as soon as my son arrived, then
we’d be off – the reality was that he arrived
around mid-day and plans had to be changed.

It wasn’t that I minded him being here – it was
lovely. It was the unexpected/early bit that
caught me out. I had sketched out a little
timetable in my head which his arrival made
redundant. To be fair to him, I just might have
said to him to come over when he’s ready, but it
seems highly unlikely that I would have

We ordered some lunch in: I had three pieces of
Kentucky-style chicken of which I ate two, whilst
my son had a very meaty kebab and chips. I am
telling you this as background info to help
stimulate your empaticial gland, once I continue.
It was just good fortune that both times I tried to
telephone the home, either to speak to my
mother or leave her a message that it was
engaged, and that before I thought to try again
our food arrived. Had that not been the case, it is
likely that the highly detailed, incredibly graphic
description of the D&V bug sweeping the
establishment might just have lessened our
appetites. As it was, I didn’t attack the chocolate
I was, to have taken to my Mother until Tuesday




Have you ever burnt toast and wondered if the
bread felt pain? No? Nor me... hardly ever. I can
remember the occasions though and, if I really
concentrate, I can even smell the scorched
crusts just before the flames turned them to

Of course the question was silly. With the
internet and all the social media chatting away,
someone would have heard the slices scream
and spoken about it. I have very good hearing –
I even hear the radio faintly when nothing is
even turned on which, believe it or not is rather
annoying – enough to make me say “to hell with
it” to the electricity meter ticking away, and to
always keep the real radio on. Of course that is
all beside the point. I asked the question
because, after a long abstinence, I did burn
some toast on Wednesday morning and I didn’t
want to admit to it, if it was likely to upset

Well, it obviously won’t – and hasn’t I’m sure, so
onto the question that spun around my head all
that day and is still wafting around. Is it merely
lack of concentration or a shift in your personal
time-zone that causes a loss of seconds or, in
extreme cases (such as when people have woken
up from a coma), years of their lives with no
memories of the time lost? Or are they one and
the same?

I can’t answer this definitively yet but, my
research to date has led me to believe that one
extraordinarily brilliant British theoretical
physicist and author, whose initials only am I
allowed to divulge at this stage, (S.H.) is due to
release what proposes to be a shocking paper on
the toast phenomenon in December.



On Thursday I had choices to make, but didn’t
feel prepared to do so until after I had showered,
washed my hair and got dressed. “No problem”, I
hear you say, but not so simple for me on the
day. I woke up feeling unusually stiff and
particularly listless that morning, meaning only
one thing – downstairs for coffee before anything
else at all.

Now, I don’t know about you, but I can’t drink
coffee (or tea or even vodka come to think of it),
without indulging in some form of media...
unless of course I’m with real people, in which
case I can put up with talking and listening until
I get back home. Naturally, whilst the kettle
boiled, I turned on the computer in my kitchen
and then radio out of habit...then it was almost
lunchtime and I felt okay.

After my shower I decided against doing the
ironing and, being unable to remember other
options for the day I instead chose a program
to watch that I had recorded some days before. 
Three cheers for TIVO.



I have never been a great fan of Facebook. 
During my loyal few months, I was never able to
conquer the daily requests for Farmyard thingies,
or help with... whatevers, that always left me
feeling useless, both as a friend and a human
being. Although I’d never actually resigned, it
was my inability to fulfil the unwritten contract
that was behind my defection to Twitter.

Defection is really too loaded a word for me to
have used in this context. I promise you that I
have never passed on any secrets I don’t even
know any to tell. Please understand that it is
very important to me that you believe that to be
true, or the next fact may not sound like the
coincidence it truly was: On Friday Morning
Facebook contacted me about notifications (?)
and when I dutifully followed them back to their
Home, which they say is mine, I was told to fill in
forms regarding a Time-Line.
(Have they been reading
my mind).

As an avid watcher of Dr Who, I know all about
the dangers of crossing your own time-line,
which left me in a sticky predicament. Should I
continue on as I have been, risking my Time-Line
in their hands, or take back the reins even
though I am unfamiliar with the ride?

If nothing else this seems to corroborate my long
held theory that Dr Who is really a docu-drama
disguised as a children’s program in order to
trick the One-Dimentionalists.




Here I am again at the end of first draft/edit of
the latest of my waffling. I could keep on going
through it, but it would probably be pointless.
I’m afraid, as always, it is being fed you lumps
and all. I will try to stir it into a better
consistency within the next couple of days or so.

The time now is precisely 16.21 GMT. I am
about to throw it all up into the Ethernet and
just hope the letters land in the right order.

Thank you for  dropping by - if you still have a taste
for more nonsense, please find links to previous week's
ramblings at the top of the page, under the logo
(possibly on the left, but it could be my left and not

Please come back soon - it gets very spooky here when
it's empty.

Michele Burnett x
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